Her hand was chilled to the touch as she lay there in the bed of the hospital room. It had been around three and a half days; Kazmiyah’s condition was still the same. Her breathing would become haggard and uneven, this being the telltale sign of what was to happen next-the convulsions, the choking, and then the sound of her drowning in her own blood. Even when there was none.
Muñyirah sat there next to her daughter’s bedside, holding her hand as she kept a watchful eye on her every movement.
She felt so powerless, watching her baby girl lying there, defenseless as she suffered in silence-agonizing in her own mind. Yet again, her little Kazmiyah was suffering and there was nothing that she could do about it. She was powerless to ease her daughter’s pain-the All Luna-allegedly,
